


To Love

by artisticBunny



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: 'what is a sexuality' bloodhound, Character Study, Disaster bisexual Mirage, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Other, Sort of? - Freeform, merely tipsy, not beta read it is 4 am, rated t for alcohol use but no one gets blackout drunk so to speak, useless lesbian wraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 07:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18205574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisticBunny/pseuds/artisticBunny
Summary: After many years of solitude, dedicated only to their hunt, Bloodhound can't believe how they practically fell into the arms of one Elliott Witt.





	To Love

**Author's Note:**

> WHY HELLO THERE, FELLOW TRASH CANS.
> 
> I fell so hard for this ship, okay. Detroit: Become Human, move aside, Apex Legends is here now.
> 
> The Gaypex Legends discord server is full of enablers and I love every single one of them.
> 
> This fic is entirely SFW and does not go into detail about any eventual anatomy of our nonbinary fave Bloodhound. Their appearance in this fic is based off of my own portrayal of the character, aka my headcanon. You are welcome to have your own headcanon, but please, do not criticise mine.
> 
> Please feel free to bring any grammar mistakes or accidental use of the wrong pronouns to my attention in the comments, or any other feedback you have! I live off of comments and feedback. 
> 
> With all that out of the way, please enjoy! <3

They hated to admit it, but when Elliot Witt, Mirage, first had stepped into their life, they'd fallen hard. Hard and fast.

From simply being distracted by the man in the ring (the seemingly never ending stream of chatter, the blindingly confident grin after coming out of a fight victorious, the way his body moved with such conviction and precision when things became serious) to actively seeking him out at whatever bar he worked at between the games (though they would never admit it being more than just a ‘fortunate coincidence’), they found themselves intrigued by this boisterous man dubbed fan favourite. They could see why, and couldn't help but wonder what he was actually like. 

They resented the tiny flame of hope for kinship that had started to grow in their heart, but couldn't help but feed it further.

They didn't know when they became so detached from their fellow men and women. They'd been so deeply immersed in their hunt, the games, the mission the Allfather had sent them on, that somewhere along the line their connection with other people slowly waned and slowed to a halt. They grew reserved and defensive over time, but they'd always been a loving soul as a youngling. They weren't exactly old, not even close, but before their adulthood they'd been gentle, caring, and compassionate. When their fate led them on their hunt, that hadn't necessarily changed, but what they lacked in people-skills, they well made up for with their prowess in battle and vast knowledge of all things in nature. 

That said, they didn't understand how Elliott always saw them, always had time for them, no matter how busy he was. Had a drink ready for them before they'd even taken a seat at the bar, explained what it was and that it was alcohol free before they'd opened their mouth to ask. Handed them a straw before they could request one, mindful of their privacy.

Thinking about it, that might have been what made them fall.

 

While their friendship slowly blossomed, Bloodhound gradually became enamored with how Elliott took everything in his stride. Never prodded about their looks, their past, their name...

_(“Hey, I've only ever known you as Bloodhound. Surely there's another name somewhere?”_

_“The name I was given at birth is a name I've scorned for many years. I do not associate myself with it anymore. Bloodhound is all I am.”_

_“... So that gives me perma- per- premis- ...allows me to give you dumb nicknames based on Bloodhound, right?”)_

He never forced them to break their bubble of privacy. He was gentle and compassionate with them, like they were with their precious ravens. 

Mirage was slowly chipping away at the quartz forming around their heart, clambering in and making himself a nest in the deepest part they couldn't expel him from.

From their friendship sprouted yet another branch of the flower in the Hounds soft heart. How touches from Mirage, touches they'd reject and possibly tear someone's arm off for in the past, gradually became longer, bolder, like slinging his arm around their waist when approached by fans, or gently bumping their shoulders, arms, hands together when walking side by side. 

They'd spend longer nights in each others company, sleeping closer and closer to each other each night. Eventually they'd ended up falling asleep leaned on each others shoulders after a night of bad movies on the TV, Bloodhound waking up the next morning with their mask still on, laying on the couch with a blanket gently thrown on top of them. 

Just a small note left behind, explaining how Mirage had needed to rush, but that he'd made breakfast for them for when they woke up, giving them permission to grab what they wanted in privacy. If their heart had beaten extra hard that day, they'd deny it until the cows came home.

Bloodhound started making an effort to have Mirage placed on their team. They worked well together, the chaotic trickster nature of Mirage being a perfect cover for the cold, calculated kills Bloodhound could pull off. Sure, it meant that most of their syringes usually were spent on Mirage, but it worked. They won many of their next games together.

Slowly, but steady, they noticed their circle of acquaintances expand. Through Mirage came Wraith, through her came Makoa and Lifeline. All friends with Mirage, and eventually, Hound started opening up to them, too.

The time they first took off the mask was on a night when Elliott was off from his bar duties, the five unlikely friends sitting in a booth together, chatting about the game they'd partaken in that day. The conversation was short lived when Wraith had stolen Mirages wallet, cackling hysterically while phasing in and out of reality, and ran away with Elliott and several of his clones in tow.

_(“Wraith, you useless lesbian, give that back!”_

_“Not until you ‘fess up, lover boy!”)_

Bloodhound had been flustered and confounded at the sudden altercation, the subtle implications behind the words just slightly beyond them. Makoa must have picked up on their confusion (how, they didn't understand, but Makoa was an empathetic man in every way) and leaned across the table, getting their attention.

“Those two are practically siblings. They've been best friends since before we knew them. This is just how they are.” he said, and the Hound cocked their head subtly to the side, still confused.

“She called him ‘lover boy’. I was not aware Elliott had a partner?” they asked, ignoring the burning feeling in their stomach at the thought of Elliott being with anyone else than them.

The confusion grew when Makoa threw his head back and laughed, stopping when Ajay jabbed her elbow in his side.

“Ow! Ah, no, he doesn't, brotha'. But he's absolutely whipped for someone, that part is true. I'm sure he'll tell you soon.” The last part was said with a huge grin and a pat to their shoulder, and it did settle their nerves a little, at least from the time being. 

A sudden crash brought the group's eyes over to the mess of limbs on the floor a couple of feet away from them, where two of Elliots decoys had managed to tackle the still cackling Wraith, Elliott snatching his wallet back (but Bloodhound could hear and see that the man was laughing, too.)

“This is the last time I treat you to drinks.” Elliott said, extending his hand to help the girl up off the floor.

Wraith in turn scoffed, grabbed his hand and pulled herself up. “You never treat me to drinks.”

“Okay then, clarification: this is the last time I let _you_ treat _yourself_ to drinks using _my_ money!” he retorts, pouting while they return to the booth and the others. They were met by laughter, and the five went back to chatting over drinks and food.

Eventually, most of them were more than a little tipsy, and Elliott was practically draped over Bloodhounds shoulder. He wasn’t drunk, per se, only tipsy, but the adrenaline from the day’s game had run out and made him tired. Hence, he was almost dozing off against them.

With a gentle chuckle, they gently prodded Elliott off of them, moving to stand up.

“Thank you for tonight, _felagí_ , but I believe someone needs rest.” they said with an obvious gesture to the man beside them, who promptly laid his head down on the table, one finger in the air.

“If I remember correctly, _you_ weren’t forced to run two miles with a literal gush- gonsh- gunshot wound in your ass.”

The rest of the group laughed, but Elliott did get up and say his goodbyes, and the two left the bar.

They ended up at Elliotts apartment - it was a fair bit closer than where Hound lived while they were a competitor in the game. However, he wasn’t making this easy on them.

As soon as they’d gotten inside, Elliott had resorted to peppering Hound’s mask with small kisses, and as much as they wanted to just get Elliott to bed, feed their ravens and maybe sleep themselves, they rapidly grew distracted, content with just letting Elliot shower them with kisses. They couldn’t remember when, if ever, they’d last been treated with such love, gentleness. 

And that’s how they ended up where they were now.

“Elliott, you are drunk.” they mumble, in an attempt to smother their own feelings, and get Elliott to realize what he was doing. There’s no way Elliott actually liked them enough to be doing this outside the haze of alcohol.

“I’m really not.” comes the mumbled reply, muffled against their mask, but Bloodhound just shakes their head and starts pushing away from him anyway.

They don’t get very far before Elliott pulls them right back, hands on either side of their mask, forcing them to look at him.

Had it been anyone else, they’d be halfway through stabbing him now. But instead, they just still, looking at Elliott, eyes wide behind glassy lenses.

“Look, Hound, this is dumb. I’m dumb. I don’t know how to, like, tell you this. At all. I’m not partice- parl- parc- … I’m not very good at stuff like this. I, uh.” he starts, cutting himself off with a nervous chuckle, and the hunter felt their heart starting to beat faster.

“Ellott-”

“No no no, shut up, just for _one_ second, okay? I don’t words good under pressure.” he interrupts them, and they comply, following Elliott with their eyes when the man looked away, but he turns back to them after taking a deep breath. The determination in his eyes is absolutely striking, and they hold their breath.

“I… I think I love you, Hound. I’ve never, like, had a real relationship with someone. Mostly just flings and one night stands. I’ve never known how to love someone. Not before you, anyway.” he explains, voice steady and free of his characteristic stutter, and the Hound exhales shakily, feeling their face heat up behind the protection of their mask. They stay silent for a while, long enough for Elliott's expression to drop.

“Shit shit shit, sorry, I overstepped. I'm so sorry, I'll leave-” he rambles, quickly letting go of Hound, and they immediately felt their heart fill with panic.

“No, wait-” they exclaim before reason can stop them, reaching to grab at Elliott's arm before he can leave. He shakes their hand off, but he doesn't turn away from them.

With shaking hands, they reach up, knocking the hat off their head as they reach to the back of their head, slowly and methodically unfastening the clasps of the mask. Squeezing their eyes shut, they slowly take it off, using their free hand to shake their hair out.

Their hair was a dark, reddish blonde colour, thick and wavy, falling to just above their shoulders with small, beaded braids interspersed throughout. Their skin was pale with hundreds of freckles dusted over their nose and cheeks, nose bridge straight and narrow, cheekbones chiseled under the slightest layer of baby fat yet not shed. The left side of their face was marked with scars, scratches from prey they'd taken down. Opening their eyes to look at Elliott, their left eye was brown, partially hazed over with blindness and scarring, left eye a brilliant moss green. One scar interrupted their left eyebrow, both thick and dark, and yet another scar cut through the left side of their full, slightly chapped lips. Their long eyelashes flutter as their gaze darts around the room, not sure where to rest their eyes. 

They are feeling way too exposed like this. They don’t know why - every fiber in their body screams at them to hide, to cover back up, or they’ll get hurt. But they don’t want to hide anymore.

Elliott hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound or even breathed since they took the mask off and revealed themselves for the first time.

“I think…” they begin, their voice much smaller, softer, lacking the metallic filter of dissonance the masks voice modulator gave them. They take a deep breath, closes their eyes to recenter themselves, before locking their gaze with Elliott’s.

“I think… I may be in love with you as well.” they manage, not taking their gaze away. They let the mask fall to the carpeted floor, they wouldn’t be needing that any more tonight.

For a moment, time is frozen still. They stand there, just looking into each others eyes, trying to find answers, find what to do next.

Eventually, Elliott is the one to break the silence.

He jerks into motion with a deep breath in, taking a step closer to the hunter, raising his hands. The moment the man’s fingertips makes contact with their face, they squeeze their eyes shut, flinching away just slightly.

They feel two thumbs gently stroke across their cheeks, from their nose to just under the outer corners of their eyes, soft slightly moist lips against their forehead, then they were tightly held against Elliott’s chest, the taller man’s arms wrapped tightly around their shoulders, his face buried in their hair. 

They freeze for a second, but melt into the embrace soon enough, hesitantly wrapping their arms around Elliott’s chest in return. This was still so new to them, so unfamiliar.

They, did, however, realize something must be wrong when they felt something soak their hair, the man they were holding shaking minutely.

They pull back, features constricted with worry as they look up at Elliott, tears streaming down his cheeks despite the smile on his lips.

“What is wrong, _elskan_? Have I done something wrong? I should not have taken my mask off, I am so sorry…” They brought their gloved hands up to Elliot’s cheeks, gently trying to wipe the tears, but only leaving subtle stains of dirt on his cheeks. Elliott just brought his hands up to rest over theirs, shaking his head carefully.

“No, no no, that’s not it at all. You’re beautiful, I would kill a hundred men for you to never hide again. I’m just..” he breaks off, sniffles, chuckles, and the sound makes something constrict in Hound’s chest. “I’m just _happy_ , Hound.”

Still not following exactly with how if Elliott is happy if he’s crying, they decided to not prod. They just smile up at him, looking down for a second to remove their gloves, letting their calloused palms rest against Elliott’s cheeks directly. He seemed to lean into their touch, letting them test the waters.

“...I am happy, too. The Allfather brought you to me, after many years of thinking I do not deserve something like this. As long as you still want me, I will not let go of you.” they say, the words unfamiliar, but comforting - they had never expected this, and not with someone as extraordinary as Elliott Witt.

Their words are met with a wide grin and a laugh, and they find themselves smiling wider, too - their cheeks hurt from the unfamiliar strain, but they couldn’t will themselves to stop. Eventually, they drop their hands down to Elliott’s shoulders, stepping closer to him once again, and they lean into the touch when Elliott runs his thumb over one of the scars on their cheek, then moving his hand into the hair at their temple, fingers playing idly with one of their braids.

“Can’t believe I finally get to ask this. Hound, can I kiss you?” Elliott says, voice low, a question meant only for their ears. They’re taken aback for a second, before the smile is back on their lips and they nod.

“Yes, Elliott, you may.”

And when their lips finally met, Hound was sure they would never find anything better than what they already had in their arms.


End file.
